


Petrichor (Mess Of Youthful Innocence)

by ybcpatrick



Series: the peterick dictionary [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Playgrounds, Rain, Thunderstorms, if you've ever wanted Pete Wentz to metaphorically eat shit twice in the same fic this one's for you, married peterick, pete and Patrick are literally five, pls read it it's cute I swear, this was so fun to write omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ybcpatrick/pseuds/ybcpatrick
Summary: “Come on, ‘Trick, we've been in here for hours,” Pete sighed, tugging on the front of his husband’s shirt. “We deserve a break! We could go outside, get some air, maybe we could take a walk to that park down the block...” Patrick only raised a brow, unimpressed.“It's been raining all goddamn day.” He deadpanned.“Even better! We’ll be able to smell the petrichor!” Pete said, cheerfully. Patrick’s brows furrowed, and he stared at Pete blankly.“The what?”





	Petrichor (Mess Of Youthful Innocence)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bishopsknifepatrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishopsknifepatrick/gifts).



> MEGAN THIS IS FOR YOU I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BEAUTIFUL LITTLE IDEAS
> 
> THIS FIC WOULD HAVE TURNED OUT A LOT LESS FUNNY IF NOT FOR YOU
> 
> WHY AM I ALWAYS YELLING IN THE AUTHORS NOTE
> 
> I DON'T KNOW
> 
> ENJOY

**pet·ri·chor**  
ˈpeˌtrīkôr/ _noun_  
• _a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather._

///////

“We _gotta_ get outta this studio, ‘Trick.” Pete whined, flopping bonelessly onto the couch and the other man’s lap. Patrick scoffed, lifting his laptop out of the way of Pete’s skull as it collided with his thigh.

“We can't, dumbass,” Patrick retorted, setting his laptop back down onto Pete’s chest as he continued trying to align the background vocals with his own. “This album comes out in a few months, we have to finish it.” Pete only huffed, pouting out his bottom lip.

“Yeah, but Hurley and Trohman aren't even here! It's not fair that we’re in here working when they aren't!” Pete groused. Patrick looked at him over his glasses, incredulous.

“How the fuck do you run a record label again?”

“Come on, ‘Trick, we've been in here for _hours_ ,” Pete sighed, tugging on the front of his husband’s shirt. “We deserve a break! We could go outside, get some air, maybe we could take a walk to that park down the block...” Patrick only raised a brow, unimpressed.

“It's been raining all goddamn day.” He deadpanned.

“Even better! We’ll be able to smell the petrichor!” Pete said, cheerfully. Patrick’s brows furrowed, and he stared at Pete blankly.

“The _what_?”

“Petrichor! It's the way the air smells when it rains after a long time and shit like that. Kinda ozone-y, kinda sweet, that smell.” Pete explained.

“Oh, _that_. That'd be why I didn't know the word, we don't smell that much here.” Patrick muttered, nodding in understanding. Pete grinned, pulling Patrick down more to look at him.

“Which is all the more reason to go outside!” Pete reasoned, waggling his eyebrows. “Don'tcha wanna go breathe it in, take full advantage of the rain while we’ve got it…?” Patrick stared down at him pensively, trying to be resolute in continuing their work. Finally, he sighed heavily, closing his eyes in defeat.

“ _Alright_ , I guess we can go outside for a while.”

“ _Yesssssssss_ —”

“But only for, like, ten minutes!” Patrick stipulated, lifting his laptop off of Pete gingerly and setting it beside him on the couch.

“Gotcha, no time to waste then!” Pete cheered, hauling himself off of Patrick. Like lighting, he seized Patrick's wrist and bounded out the studio with him in tow.

As soon as he flung open their front door, Pete spread his arms and breathed in deeply. Sweet, damp air filled his nose and lungs, tickling him pleasantly. Gazing up, the sky still swirled with dark, stormy clouds, but the rainfall had ceased at the moment, leaving the air cooler than the usual sweltering heat of California. Pete hopped outside with a large grin, skipping down the path to the driveway. Like a child, he spun on his heels and watched Patrick locking the door.

“Wanna go on that walk?” Pete asked, bouncing hyperactively with each word. In spite of himself, Patrick laughed, shaking his head lovingly at Pete.

“Alright.” He sighed, extending his hand for Pete to take. Happily, Pete grabbed on, half-dragging his husband down the driveway to the sidewalk.

Patrick's typically-lively street was abandoned, save for them. The soaked pavement, sparkling grass and darkened skies sat in undisturbed beauty around them. Wind whistled through the damp trees, shaking droplets from the leaves to rain down gently around them. Taking his own deep breath, Patrick closed his eyes and hummed contentedly.

“Whatcha thinking ‘bout?” Pete asked, swinging their joined hands. Patrick tilted his head back, glancing over at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Y’know what this weather reminds me of?”

“What?”

“Home.”

“It's normally really hot here, how—”

“No, you goof,” Patrick chuckled, looking at him straight-on, “ _Home_. Chicago.”

A slight pang of homesickness rattled in Pete's chest, and he smiled against it. Chicago. They hadn't been home in ages. Stopping where they were on the sidewalk, he looked around. As if on cue, another gust of northeast wind fluttered their hair and rustled their clothes, almost as if it had been sent from Chicago just for them. More raindrops fell from a tree nearby, gently kissing along the tattoos on Pete's right arm.

“I miss it, too.” Pete sighed, taking hold of Patrick's other hand. “We gotta go back sometime, visit our parents. I miss your mom’s lasagna.” Patrick laughed again, squeezing Pete’s hands.

“As soon as the album’s all finished up, just before the release, we’ll go home for a week. See your parents, see mine, visit some old friends from the hardcore scene. It'll be great.” Patrick promised. “First flight we can find for January 10th?”

“First flight we can find for January 10th.” Pete repeated, locking their pinkies together in finality. Leaning in towards their hands, Pete pressed his lips against Patrick’s knuckles, and sweet pink crept along Patrick's cheeks. Pete smirked against his skin and studied his husband for a moment, watching the dark spots slowly appear on his TMNT shirt as the trees flicked more rain down from their heights. A sudden thought struck him, and Pete brightened up once again, grinning from ear to ear.

“In the meantime, though,” he began, dropping their joined hands back down to their sides, “Let's make LA feel just a little more like home. The way we both _really_ remember it!”

“How do you propose we do that?” Patrick queried. Pete crossed his arms, glancing down his nose as if playing a total genius.

“Let’s go play on that playground like we’re five.” He said, jabbing a thumb behind him at a children’s park across the street. Patrick choked on his laughter, staring at Pete with disbelief.

“ _Really_? We’re grown-ass men!”

“You're wearing a vintage 1980’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tee, and I'm wearing a shirt I've got from my first Metallica concert when I was ten. Now c’mon, I'm gonna race you!” Pete giggled, throwing himself off the curb and across the road. Patrick sputtered, looking both ways before chasing after him.

Throwing his head back and laughing, Pete dashed across the grass to the swing set and flung himself on it, stomach first. Water soaked through his tank top on contact, cool against his skin, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Lifting his legs up behind him, Pete swung back quickly from the momentum of his running start.

“You're a dick, you got a head start!” Patrick puffed, approaching the swings in a light jog. Pete dropped his feet to the sand beneath his swing, looking through his legs at Patrick.

“Well, when once calls for such a race, it's my belief that they should get the head start.” Pete reasoned.

“That makes literally no sense.”

“ _You_ make no sense.”

“Wow, hard-hitting. I'm wounded.” Patrick snarked lightly, stepping over to the swing beside Pete's. Looking down at the seat, he groaned. “Goddammit, it's all wet!”

“Just sit anyways, you're not gonna melt.”

“No, I don't wanna get my ass wet.”

Sighing dramatically, Pete stood up off his swing, momentarily surveying the wet patch on the front of his shirt. Nodding once to himself, he walked around Patrick and flopped onto the rain-covered swing instead, feeling more water seep into his shirt.

“There,” he stated, “Now you can have the dry one.” Patrick giggled, turning and sitting on the dried swing gracefully.

“Why thank you, noble gentleman.” Patrick teased in a mock British accent. Pete turned to look up at him, face red from the blood rush.

“But of course, darling.” He replied in the same terrible accent, kicking off to start himself swinging. Patrick followed suit, quickly getting higher than Pete could in his position. Thunder rumbled off in the distance, signalling the brewing of a storm. Staring in its direction as he reached the top of his arc, Patrick watched in awe as the silvery gaps in the clouds were illuminated with lightning.

“We really shouldn't stay out here for too long.” Patrick mused, hypnotized by the far-off weather. Pete only made a noncommittal noise, grunting from the effort in spinning around onto his back. He looked up at Patrick, smiling widely.

“Hey, babe, watch this.” Pete called, waiting for Patrick's eyes to land on him. As soon as he captured his attention, Pete cockily reared his legs up, attempting to do a flip and land on his feet. Once his body was curled behind him and his shoes hit the sand though, they slid. As quickly as his confidence filled Pete, it left in a rush, and he landed face first in the puddle below the swing.

“Oh my god!” Patrick cried out, stopping his swing abruptly. Pete groaned from where he'd landed, muffled by the sand that had unfortunately entered his mouth. Quickly, Patrick crouched beside him, helping Pete up. Only when he realized his husband was okay did he promptly lose his shit.

“This isn't funny…” Pete grumbled, though there was no venom behind it.

“It really kind of is.” Patrick replied, lovingly brushing sand out of Pete's hair and scruff. Screwing his lips up in disgust, Pete turned away from Patrick’s hands, spitting in the grass. Patrick laughed once again, bending double, and Pete could help but follow suit.

“Alright, well I guess it doesn't matter if _I_ get wet now,” Pete shrugged, wandering away from the swingset to the climber. Patrick trailed behind him, attempting to dust the wet sand from his hands.

“Not that you cared to begin with, but yeah.” His husband agreed, grabbing hold on the nearest ladder to climb onto the playset. Pete glanced around, eyes landing on the spiral slide.

“Hey, do you think I could climb up that?” He asked, jogging over to the slide. It was covered in beads of water, and Pete swept his hand across it, creating a wide streak on the plastic. Patrick hummed from above, leaning over the railing.

“Probably not while it's wet like that, but go for it,” he said, “I'll wait up here for you.”

“Sweet.” Pete replied, walking away from the slide’s base. Once he was about twenty feet away, he turned again, meeting Patrick's eyes as he watched intently from the top of the climber. “Grab my hand to pull me the rest of the way up, okay?” He called, cupping his hands around his mouth. Patrick nodded, giving him a thumbs up. With that, Pete readied himself, then bolted, hurtling towards the slide.

Despite the water on the slide, Pete managed to get most of the way up. His grip on the high sides was white-knuckle, but he hauled himself up to the opening on limbs shaking from exertion. Patrick’s hand was already outstretched, waiting for Pete to take it. Grinning, Pete gripped on tightly and tried pulling himself the rest of the way up.

The couple conveniently forgot that the climber was made of metal.

Said metal was, in that moment, slick with rain.

“Uh-oh.” Patrick murmured, feeling his runners start to lose their grip where he was crouched. Pete gaped at him with worry, still trying to climb the rest of the way up the slide as his own feet nearly fell victim to the slippery plastic.

“Whaddaya mean, ' _uh-oh_ '!?” Pete cried.

“Climb faster! My feet are slipping!”

“I ca— _wOAH_!!” Pete shouted as he flopped over, stomach first on the slide. Immediately he started to slip down, pulling a screaming Patrick with him on his knees. The water sped up their descent and they reached the bottom quickly, flying off and landing on top of each other hard in a p.

“ _Gaughhhhhhhhhhhh_ , fuck.” Patrick groaned, hands clasping over his nose, which had been slammed against the small of Pete's back in their landing. “That _sucked_. I think we’re getting old.”

“I think,” Pete wheezed, head smushed between Patrick’s thighs in the least sexy way, “I think slipping down a wet slide at Mach 3 would hurt at _any_ age, Patrick.”

“Probably.” Patrick muttered, rolling off his husband onto the wet sand. Gingerly, Patrick sat up, glancing down at his legs as he did so. His jeans were practically drenched right through at all angles, and the hem of his shirt was soaked, too. Pete pushed himself up onto his elbows, following Patrick's gaze.

“Sorry I got you wet.” Pete said softly, brows knitting together from guilt. As if on cue, thunder rumbled above, and the skies opened up once more. Rain started spitting, then falling, then pounding down around them. Patrick could only laugh, head tilted up at the sky to let the rain hit his reddened cheeks.

“Guess it doesn't matter now, does it? Toldja we shouldn't have stayed out here too long.” Patrick asked. Pete shrugged, crawling up to kneel in front of Patrick.

“Guess not.” Pete responded, smirking as he brushed Patrick’s dripping bangs out of his eyes. “Wanna kiss me, Notebook-style?” Patrick giggled at that, leaning closer.

“What, you mean run at each other dramatically and kiss in the pouring rain?”

“Nah, just the kiss in the rain part.”

“I can do that.”

///////

[BONUS]:

Andy [2:15pm]: How's writing going?

Andy [2:34pm]: Hello??

Andy [2:45pm]: Pete??

Andy [3:02pm]: Dude what the fuck

Pete [3:37pm]: sorry bro just got this !

Andy [3:38pm]: What do you mean

Andy [3:38pm]: Where the fuck were you?!

Pete [3:39pm]: we were playing !

Andy [3:40pm]: …what

Pete [3:42pm]: patrick and i went to the park and we swung on some swings then fell down a slide into a puddle and now we’re all wet so we gtg ttyl !!

Andy [3:45pm]: Ummmmm

Andy [3:45pm]: Why the hell am I even friends with you two holy fuck

**Author's Note:**

> find me on pretty much all social media and talk to me about fanfiction @angelofthedamnlord B)


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